Night's Kiss

by Amanda Ashley

  Finally, she whirled around, her eyes narrowed, her hands fisted on her hips. "Do you have to stare at me like that?"

  She grimaced when he murmured an apology that he didn't mean.

  Desire pulsed between them, charging the air, bringing a flush to her cheeks. She knew he wanted her. His need was almost tangible. He stood there, his hands tightly clenched at his sides, his eyes dark, burning with hunger. But hunger for what? Her blood? Or something equally dear? She didn't know which prospect was more frightening, the thought of satisfying his dark hunger or sharing his bed.

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she cast about for something to say, anything that would break the tension in the air.

  "I want to know how to open the gates." She blurted the words, felt the back of her neck grow hot at the knowing look in his eyes.

  He lifted one brow. "Going somewhere?"

  "What if I said yes? Would you let me go?"

  "Is that what you want? To leave here?" The words, to leave me, hung unspoken in the air between them.

  "Yes. No. I don't know. All I know is that I'm tired of being locked behind these walls day in and day out like some kind of cloistered nun."

  He grinned. She was the most unlikely-looking nun he had ever seen, with her long red hair falling over her shoulders like a crimson waterfall and her eyes blazing with righteous anger.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Do you ever intend to let me go?"

  He didn't want to, even though he knew it was for the best. Better to end it now before he did something they would both regret. All that aside, he realized it was unfair of him to keep her imprisoned here against her will. He had taught her what she needed to know to survive in her new environment. The rest was up to her. Even if she decided to leave here, leave him, he would always be able to find her. The tiny bit of blood he had taken would guide him to her no matter where she might be.

  Reaching into his pants pocket, he withdrew the keys to the Ferrari and placed them in her hand. "I'll remove the wards from the gate before I take my rest." Rising on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

  "Thank you."

  He nodded, wondering if, once she was away from here, from him, she would ever come back.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  The atmosphere between the two of them was strained the rest of the evening.

  Roshan went into the living room and turned on the television. He lit a fire in the hearth, then sank back in his favorite chair, his gaze fixed on the flames, oddly discomfited by the thought that she would leave and not return, even though he knew it would be for the best. He had nothing to offer her; he couldn't even guarantee her safety.

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He had accomplished his goal. He had found Brenna Flanagan and saved her from death at the stake. And now, to his astonishment, he found that he was in danger of falling in love with the lady. He had already grown accustomed to her presence in his house, to knowing she would be there when he woke. Lately, lying in his lair as the rising sun edged over the horizon to sweep night's dark cloak from the sky, the last thing he was aware of before he tumbled into the Dark Sleep was the soothing sound of Brenna's heartbeat.

  He snorted softly, amused by the turn of his thoughts. Falling in love, indeed. Should he be foolish enough to do so, he would only be asking for heartache. Surely no woman in her right mind would knowingly get involved with a vampire.

  She entered the room a few minutes later, her footsteps little more than a whisper on the plush carpet, the cat at her heels.

  Brenna hesitated when she saw him there, then she sat down on the sofa, her arms folded across her breasts, her gaze fixed on the television as if she hoped to discover all the unanswered questions of the universe on the screen.

  Morgana stared from one to the other, then curled up in front of the fireplace, staring at the two of them through unblinking yellow eyes.

  Roshan grinned in wry amusement as the commercial ended and the football game resumed. He watched Brenna for several minutes, aware that his scrutiny was making her increasingly nervous.

  "Feel free to change the channel," he said, tossing her the remote.

  She rewarded him with a tentative smile, then flipped through the channels until she found a movie. It was one he had seen numerous times, starring Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal.

  Brenna settled back on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, one leg folded beneath her.

  Tension flowed between them.

  He pretended to watch the fire.

  She pretended to watch the movie.

  He swore under his breath.

  She fidgeted with a lock of her hair.

  When he couldn't stand it any longer, he turned to look at her, admiring the soft curve of her cheek, the way the light from the fire played over her face. He never tired of looking at her. An in-drawn breath carried the scent of lilacs and warm womanly flesh to his nostrils. His hunger quickened, not for her blood, but for the taste of her lips, the touch of her skin beneath his hand.

  As though sensing his heated gaze, she turned to face him.

  Desire arced between them, sizzling with electricity, like the air before a summer thunderstorm.

  Without conscious thought, he was on his feet and moving toward her.

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. He could hear her heart beating wildly in her breast.

  "Brenna."

  She didn't say anything, only continued to stare at him.

  Kneeling before her, he stroked her cheek, reveling in the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. His own skin was always cool to the touch unless he had just fed.

  "Kiss me, Brenna," he whispered. "One kiss, to chase away the shadows and keep me warm when I take my rest."

  She stared at him, her heart racing, and then she leaned toward him.

  His hand slid behind her nape as his mouth covered hers. Her lips were as soft and sweet as he remembered and he knew one kiss wouldn't be enough. Would never be enough.

  Taking hold of her waist, he drew her down onto his lap, his mouth never leaving hers. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers, his preternatural senses filling with her nearness until he could think of nothing else, wanted nothing else. Her body molded to his, her lush curves soft against the hardness of his chest.

  He scattered kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her brow, then slid to her neck. Unable to resist, he ran his tongue over the skin behind her ear, kissed the hollow of her throat.

  The seductive sound of her heartbeat resonated in his ears; the call of her life's blood like a siren's song, overshadowing the ache in his body. His teeth grazed her skin.

  With a cry, he quickly turned his head away lest she see his fangs and the hunger that was surely blazing like red death in his eyes.

  Moaning softly, she reached for him.

  Roshan drew back before she could touch him. Rising, he took a few steps away, careful to keep his back toward her. He knew how he looked, his eyes wild, blazing with the lust for blood. He ran his tongue over his teeth, felt the sharp prick of his fangs. Oh, yes, he knew how he looked—he had seen the face of the vampire before, the night Zerena had seduced him…

  He had been on his way home from the local tavern when he realized he was being followed. Glancing over his shoulder, he had seen a woman trailing a few yards behind him. He had never seen her before, was, in fact, certain she was not from this part of the county. Her clothing was too fine, her skin too fair, her face unlined by the worry and hard work that marked the countenance of every other woman he knew.

  Wondering who she was, he had focused on the road ahead once again.

  And then she had called his name. Startled, he had come to an abrupt halt, surprised to find her standing at his elbow.

  She had smiled up at him, revealing teeth whiter than any he had ever seen.

  "Who are you?" he had asked, embarrassed by the tremor in his voice.

  She tilted her head to one side, her deep brown
eyes sparkling. "I am the Lady Zerena."

  "Why are you following me?"

  "Why, indeed?" She ran her fingertips down the length of his arm, her fingers caressing his biceps. And then her gaze trapped his and he was caught, unable to look away, unable to resist the promise he saw in her eyes.

  Zerena led him to a small wooden house located far off the main road. From the outside, it looked like a hovel. Inside, it looked like a chamber fit for a queen. A large bed covered with soft furs and silken pillows occupied most of the room. Damask draperies covered the single window. Thick rugs were scattered across the floor.

  She gave him a gentle push toward the bed. "Sit." She poured a glass of dark red wine and handed it to him. "Relax," she purred. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  He was a big man. He could have crushed her with one hand, yet deep in his gut, he didn't doubt that she was the stronger. The thought sent a chill coursing down his spine.

  "Drink," she urged. "It will relax you."

  He had lacked the will to refuse. Lifting the glass, he drained the contents.

  Still smiling, she took the glass from his hand and tossed it into the fireplace. It shattered against the bricks. Shards of sparkling crystal reflected all the colors of the rainbow before landing in the ashes.

  Sitting beside him on the bed, she ran her hand through his hair and down his neck, then slipped her fingers inside his shirt to caress his chest. He shivered at her touch.

  She leaned against him, her body bearing him down until he was stretched out on the mattress, her body atop his, her hands boldly exploring his arms, his legs, the width of his shoulders.

  When he started to protest, she covered his mouth with her own. At the touch of her lips, all thought fled his mind until he felt her teeth at his throat.

  Awareness flooded through him and he opened his eyes to find himself staring up at a monster with blazing red eyes and fangs stained with his blood.

  Too late, he had tried to fight her off, but he was no match for her preternatural strength. He cried out, a mingled protest born of fear and outrage as her fangs pierced his throat again. And then, to his amazement, he lost the will to fight. Instead, he was overcome with such a sense of euphoria that he placed his hand at the back of her head, pressing her mouth closer, wanting her to take more, wanting her to take it all.

  And she had. His memory of what had followed was hazy. He remembered her voice calling to him, remembered her wrist pressed to his mouth, her voice commanding him to drink before it was too late.

  He had been too weak, too weary, to resist the power in her voice. He had closed his mouth over her wrist and drank and drank until she jerked her arm away.

  "Sleep now," she had told him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Sleep your last night as a man."

  He had stared up at her, confused by her words, alarmed by the expression on her face, but before he could demand an explanation, mortal sleep had claimed him for the last time…

  "Roshan?"

  With a shake of his head, he realized that Brenna had asked him a question.

  Taking a deep breath, he stilled the hunger within him, then turned to face her.

  "Are you all right?" she asked again. "Have I done something wrong?"

  "No."

  "Then why… ?" A rosy flush colored her cheeks. "Why did you stop?"

  "Because I don't want to hurt you."

  "Hurt me?" She looked confused for a moment, and then, as comprehension dawned in her eyes, she lifted a hand to her throat.

  "Just so," he said, his voice brittle. "The lust for flesh and the lust for blood are closely entwined. I can't always separate one from the other."

  Still sitting on the floor, she blinked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "Do you like being a vampire?"

  It was a question she had asked before, one he hadn't answered. She had a way of repeating herself until he told her what she wanted to know.

  "Like it?" He pondered that for a moment. "I like living," he replied after a time. "I've enjoyed seeing the world change, experiencing the advances in civilization." Although some things, like war and poverty, never changed.

  "Is there no cure?"

  "None that I've heard of."

  "Have you ever looked for one?"

  He sat down on the far end of the sofa. "No."

  "Why not?"

  He grunted softly. "In the beginning, I didn't think of it. All I thought of was satisfying the hunger that possessed my every waking moment. Later, when I had learned to control the craving, I began to appreciate the supernatural powers the Dark Trick had given me. I explored the world, marveling at how very big it was, and how very little I knew. I spent years educating myself, learning all I could of the world and its people."

  "It sounds like a very exciting life."

  "Yes," he said quietly. "But a very lonely one."

  "In all your long life, have you never found a woman who would accept you for what you are?"

  "Would you?"

  To his amazement, she answered without thought, without doubt. "Yes."

  He shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying."

  "I want you," she said, surprised by her own boldness. "No mortal man will ever fully accept me for what I am. Even John Linder, who professed to love me above all else, was not comfortable with my magick. But you…" She shrugged, a half-smile playing over her lips. "You understand."

  "But you don't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've not seen what I truly am," he said, his voice almost a growl. "You have no idea of what I really am."

  "Show me, then."

  He lifted one brow. "Are you sure you want to know?"

  She swallowed hard, and then nodded. "Show me."

  Taking a deep breath, he let the hunger rise within him, felt his fangs lengthen in response to the scent of her blood, knew his eyes had taken on an unholy glow.

  He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her.

  She stared up at him, her expression one of mingled horror and fascination.

  "Is this what you wanted to see?" he asked, his voice harsh as he waited for her to run screaming from the room.

  "'Tis quite a frightening sight," she admitted, a faint quiver in her voice.

  "Then why aren't you afraid?"

  "I am not sure."

  With an effort, he fought down the beast within him. "You mystify me, Brenna Flanagan." He had seen fear in her eyes many times before with much less reason, and now, when he stood before her, his true self bared to her gaze, she claimed to be unafraid.

  " 'Tis hard to be afraid of the man who saved my life, someone who has shown me nothing but kindness. You may appear to be a monster, but I have seen the man beneath."

  "I am not a man," he reminded her.

  She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "You may not think of yourself as a man, but that is what I see when I look at you." Rising, she closed the distance between them. "Will you not kiss me again?"

  "You're playing with fire, Brenna Flanagan," he warned. "Fire far more dangerous than the flames you escaped before."

  "I am not afraid." Rising on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms firmly around his neck. "Kiss me, my lord vampire."

  How could he refuse? Her lips were warm and pink, her eyes alight with expectation, and her body… he could feel the heat of her breasts against his chest, the length of her thigh against his own. With a low growl, he slid his arm around her waist, bent his head, and claimed her lips with his.

  It was just a kiss, yet fire burned through him, a bright white fire that burned away the everlasting darkness in his soul, made him believe, if only for that moment, that he didn't have to spend the rest of his existence alone.

  She was breathless when he released her. He tried to take a step back, but her arms were still around his neck.

  "Have you ever been with a man before?" he asked.

  "Of course I…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening, as she perceived his mean
ing. "No."

  Taking her hands in his, he took a step backward. On some deep inner level, he had known that she was still a maiden, her body untouched, innocent. With a sigh, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I think we'd better stop this, now."

  A soft sound of protest rose in her throat as she leaned into him, her body again molding itself to his.

  Damn! Didn't she realize the effect she was having on him? He murmured her name, a wealth of longing in his voice, in the depths of his eyes.

  She made a soft sound low in her throat.

  "Brenna, this isn't a good idea."

  She looked up at him, mute.

  "Your first time," Roshan said, his voice thick. "It should be with your husband."

  He had lived in the modern world long enough to know how archaic and trite those words sounded. In tins day and age, men and women lived together, openly and shamelessly, without the blessing of the church, yet he was still a product of his upbringing, taught since childhood that a man respected a woman, and that intimacy before marriage was a sin. In the years since he had been a vampire, it was not advice to which he had always adhered. He was a vampire, not a monk, but to his credit he had never considered bedding a virgin. On those occasions when he had sought out female companionship, he had made sure the woman knew the score, and then he had made certain she would remember nothing of what passed between them.

  "I want no husband," Brenna retorted.

  "No?"

  She shook her head. "Marriage has brought nothing but misery to the women in my family."

  He looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

  With a sigh, she sat down on the sofa. "My greatgrandfather betrayed my greatgrandmother. She was burned at the stake. My grandfather vowed to love my grandmother as long as he lived, but after ten years of marriage, he left her, claiming she was in league with the devil. It was nonsense, of course. None of the women in my family has ever practiced black magick or invoked any of the dark arts. My own father abandoned my mother and me when he discovered that his daughter was a witch."

  Roshan sat down at the other end of the sofa. "I take it there are no male witches in your family?"

  "No. It passes from mother to daughter."